果ての辞世
by Aldedron
Summary: 1st Hell Girl fic, a drabble of Death, Hell, and Fiction. What is this thumping ever pervasive in your ear? Those red orbs glinting in the night, cold like Luna. She's watching you, awaiting the time to fulfill the contract and ferry your soul to Hell...


A/N  
My first _Hell Girl_ fic. I was bored and somehow remembered certain lines from the subbing even after several months of not even glancing at the show… *shrug* We're reading Shakespeare in English, so I'm in a drabbly mood and somehow it turned to the topic of Hell (prob'ly 'cause of Romeo and Juliet's various references to religion all in _one _conversation *rolls eyes*). Oh, you should also note that this was _originally_ a _Blood+_ fic about when Haji fell off the cliff. I haven't the _slightest_ clue how it ended up as it did, so don't ask -_- It ended up far more _Hell Girl_ than _Blood+_, that's for sure, and thus, I am labeling it as such ^^  
Oh, and, further explanation on the title 'll be at the bottom. It's a long explanation…

* * *

**果ての辞世****  
**_When one curse is made, two graves are dug…_

Death. It is a dark, ominous word most have grown to fear. Why, though? Just what is so terrifying about death? Imaginary other sides… the outright lies and half truths we are fed… No one has actually gone to this 'other side' and _returned_ to tell the tale—and if anyone truly has, do the people believe them? No. These people they are labeled as 'insane' or 'a dreamer'. Why, though? Why is it so unbelievable for someone to have died—to have gone to the other side—and returned?

You begin to wonder, '_Did I really imagine it?_' There's no one to verify, however. There might never be. And, to those who may, they are your enemy and every phrase spouting from their lips is arbitrary, so there's no sense in asking them. Thus, you're left with only yourself and your doubts… Real or not? Fantasy, illusion, ethereal. That's all it seems to become, fading into the back of your mind as nothing more than a glorified myth glanced upon every now and again as 'that time I was young and naïve'.

One thing does seem to stand out, though, amongst everything, that counts out this visage of the shinigami's realm—a beat. Slow and steady, pulsing, rhythmic, eternal. How couldn't you notice it? It has been so pervasive, as though it's always simply _been_, you hadn't even noticed. As prevalent as your shadow; mysterious as dark matter. You've always simply known it was there, and yet…

Fiction or non? How can you tell? Perhaps you're just insane; this continuous thumping echoing in your head a minor symptom of schizophrenia. Yes, you're simply insane. Yet, the insane do not _know_ they're insane, so by calling yourself as such you're actually saying you're not. A paradox, just like the mere idea of Death's own realm. How irrational is that, though? It's not like the energy coursing through your veins shan't be transferred back to the earth upon your demise, so why waste it in some sort of asinine 'afterworld'? Rafting across the River of Styx, where's the point in expending energy just to suffer judgment on how you've behaved? Even though you _know_ it's insane, you _know_ it doesn't make sense, you still believe, do you not?

Thump-thump.

There it is again!

Pink. Red. Blue. Green. Brown. Gray.

_Black._

So dark, so infinite. Anything could lurk within this nebulous unreality, as you are already so well aware. This is where demons are born, where witches cackle, where ghosts wail. 'Ferry this soul to Hell where the Lycoris bloom.' Where've you heard that line again? Amongst all this medieval terror, a finer yet even more terrifying possibility looms in the back of your mind. Paper lanterns floating upon a still river, the darkness closing in as her red eyes glint. A splash of color in this livid realm, cherry and vermillion blossoms blooming in the night.

Thump-thump.

A breeze whooshing through your ears, the shades of Lycoris coagulating into a single bloody form. Petals curling up, pointed tips acute, seemingly ringed with life's crimson liquid.

Blood spent for blood spilt.

It's all a dream, is it not? No one's been to Hell and back. It's irrational! Asinine! That's what everyone claims, so why does your hair still stand on end at the sound of a softly chiming bell, or the swish of black locks?

You are not insane if you claim you are, yet continue you do. '_I'm crazy, that's the only answer. A lunatic is what I've become_.' Why even the word lunatic? Sounds like it originates from 'Luna'. What's so insane about the moon? Could it be the fear it incites in us all…?

Luna's cold gaze upon our faces, shimmering a dim glimmer to dye this world grayscale. So dull, so blunt and mysterious and dark even as it lights our way through the night. An orb of pure quartz shining down a cool luminescence that shimmers and sways like the tail of a beta. Beautiful, but deadly, so many shadows originate in its pale light. Shadows for them to dwell, to lurk, to stalk. Streaking between stalks of bamboo and scaling walls of carved stone. All the while, Luna watches, indifferent, as blood is spilt, a blip of color in this colorless world.

Crimson splats atop silver flesh. They seem to circle to form orbs. A twin pair, at that, gazing at you. Piercing you. To your deepest core, your darkest secrets, anything and everything that is you.

'_It's not rational! It's not real!_' you can't help but scream, fingers clawing into your own skin as that same vermillion colors trickles down.

You struggle to explain this feeling invading your mind. It's irrational, so you must be, too. Yet, why don't you see someone? A shrink, a psychiatrist, a doctor of some sort—_any_ sort! Someone to help ease this pain and paranoia! It's not real, it's not! Someone, please verify it, for you cannot.

Tears intermix with the crimson liquid.

You know they're suffering, down there in red swamp, wallowing in their sins. You know you'll have to join them—

It's not real, it's not. It never happened, for it was all a dream. That's what they all say, isn't it? If you're not insane, then you must be a dreamer. Yes, that's it. It was all a dream. All… a dream…

Thump-thump.

You jump at the sound. Why is it always there? Why did you have to notice it!!? Weren't you just so much more content in your complacent oblivion? That world of ignorance where you were free of consequence or empathy. How you long for it… except there's no regaining what is lost.

'When a curse is made, two graves are dug.'

It intermingles with that accursed thumping. So invasive in its pervasiveness!! Get out! Leave for good, forever! No, you'd be happy even if it was just for now, you're loathe to admit. Hell, you might even be on cloud nine, for all you care. Just. make. it. _stop_.

It's not real, it's not real. It's either insanity or a dream. Oh, it's imaginary, either way.

A good attitude can make terminal cancer patients live longer than expected, a bad one shorter. Why can't it make Hell a reality—if only in your own mind? Oh, it seems so real, so true. The feel of the finely carved wood gliding through still river water as paper lanterns float silently beside you. The soft breeze brushing your cheeks. The near nonexistent chime of chiisai bells, ringing Death's toll. Your screams echo so hollowly off the wave-less liquid. Undisturbed, nothing reacts. Her crimson eyes don't bash even an eyelash. A sharp gasp of air and you've returned to reality. Or so it shall be for but a few more years. You know what's waiting at the end of Life, at the delta of the River of Styx. Skeletons prancing and cackling like witches, sneering like demons, wailing like ghosts. The lava burns like the red swamp's bottomless pit.

That wretched string still twined around your finger, even after so many years or months or weeks or days or minutes or seconds or milliseconds—it doesn't even matter! You may live for now, but you're already well aware of what awaits you! Live for however long you do, however many years which tick by on the clocks, bells chiming softly like a red eyed girl's flat tone. You shall go to Hell, soul doomed to never each Paradise. Only suffering awaits, and you willingly agreed to this pact.

That just makes it so much more unbearable. That you entered this deal full aware of its consequences. They didn't seem to matter at the time, oh no, it was just the present. Now, you've damned your future.

Oh, you hold your head in agony as those crimson eyes peer into your own. Even if you turn away or run or hide, still they find you. Always. _Always_.

Is she lurking in your dreams?

That pale skin luminescent like Luna, tone flat like her grayscale light. Oh, and those Lycoris orbs glinting like blood-spatter.

It awaits you at Death's gate, shinigami's grin hidden behind his dark cloak. That fog misting through the air parted only by paper lanterns floating upon crystalline surface.

'How would you like to see what Death is like?'

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**A/N**  
Weird? Hard to follow?? What!!? This is what you get when I'm _really_ bored and think too much -_- I, personally, understand the whole thing entirely, but most people seem to struggle with my thought process 'cause it's very disjointed and erratic at times. *sigh* Just, I beg of you, feedback. Like, do you think it fit with the whole _Hell Girl_ theme?? It's been awhile and I now hold the urge to watch the whole show over again and possibly search out the manga… but, I also love receiving feedback as to what other people think. I review near every story I read, good or bad, so—return the favor *hopeful expression*??

As for the title… I'm still but a first year in Japanese and we don't really know how to use kanji yet (even though I keep looking up and learning new ones just for the hell of it) and find it very fun to make combos and such. Every single kanji is like its own symbol and can mean _so_ many things when used in different ways. So, I tried to make my own title out of a couple I've recently taught myself ^-^  
果ての辞世 – hate no jisei  
Special note, "hate" is Romaji, not the English word which means… well, I don' wanna define it, but you know what I mean!! Anyways, hate means: the end, the extremity, the limit, the result. Then, jisei: death, death poem, passing away. No means x kind of y. Put it all together and I _suck_ at translating  
Okay, drawn-out exp. I prefer the "death poem" jisei, but it works either way. In other words, "Death Poem's End" or something along those lines… I don't know, it's actually quite symbolic and therefore difficult to explain *pulls at hair*. Can you figure it out with just those translations?? If so, gold star for you. If not, just request further explanation and I'll try _really_ hard to elaborate more articulately ^^'

Thoughts? Comments?? Confusion??? Please, please, please, _please_ review~! I desperately which to hear whether this even made _sense_ at all ToT~!!!


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